


Enraptured

by SuggestiveScribe



Category: Berserk
Genre: Anal Fingering, Before Everything Goes Wrong, Inline with canon, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Bottom, Riding, Takes place after the 100 man battle (directly after episode 14/chapter 38), for this moment we can pretend., well knowing what we know about Guts from the manga it can't be but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 10:50:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6151171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuggestiveScribe/pseuds/SuggestiveScribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"These look far too healed to have just sustained them this morning." Griffith's eyes skated over the cuts and small wounds that had already sewn themselves shut. He pressed the pad of his thumb against one, sliding over the muscled lines of Guts' shoulder. It didn't hurt or ache, only made Guts' face flush a tad warm. </p><p>"Judeau gave me something for them," he responded, voice maybe a bit detached. </p><p>Griffith lifted his eyes to Guts' face. They were close enough that Guts' next exhale fluttered the hair beside Griffith's cheek, silver strands catching at his cheekbone. There was no shift in expression, just two pale blue irises riveted to Guts' own, "I'll have to thank him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enraptured

Torches threw gold light across the tents as Guts walked back through the compound. The chatter behind him slowly dissolved into indecipherable murmuring, drunken words slurring together into a vague chorus with the sound of crickets.

The sky was as black as it was blue, reaching up into all eternity. The air was cloudless, speckled only with the light of stars. When Guts' gaze dropped back down to Earth it landed on Griffith, who stood with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes resting on Rickert. He had apparently abandoned his armor while Guts was off with his men, the tunic sitting as relaxed on his shoulders as he was propped against the tent post.

He was watching Judeau and Rickert face off at some sort of strategic board game, carved wooden pieces advancing forward like units in an army. Rickert sat on his hands as he bit his lip and teetered back and forth, uncertain.

"A commander must be swift," Judeau teased lightly.

Griffith's eyes shifted in the slightest, then as they picked up Guts in their peripheral he tilted his head upward, blinking once as their gazes met.

"Yo," Guts greeted.

The soft curve of Griffith's mouth curled further upward an almost indecipherable amount. "How are you feeling?" he asked, voice as quiet as if they were speaking privately. Below him, Rickert tentatively moved one of his game pieces.

Guts tapped the bandages on one bared shoulder. "Disinfected," he answered with a grin.

Griffith's smile was pleased enough to pinch at the corner of his eyes.

"But, nah," Guts hoisted his sword from where it was settled atop his shoulders, lowering it down by his waist and tapping the tip against the dirt, "The guys drank a lot but I didn't partake too much. Don't like losin' memories."

Griffith blinked, face unchanging but still somehow demonstrating understanding. He lurched off the support beam, tipping his head down the path and toward his tent, "Walk with me?"

Guts gave a curt nod before heaving the sword back onto the perch of his shoulders, ignoring the vague ache through his ribs at the motion. He glanced down as they moved forward, watching Rickert slap his hand over his face and wailing at Judeau's next move.

As Guts passed Judeau he gave him a fond slap on the shoulder. Judeau blinked up at him, grin still lingering on his lips from ensuring Rickert's demise. "Thanks," Guts said with a smile.

It took him a moment, but when Judeau blinked at the bandages his smile smeared across his face, "No problem Captain."

Guts gave him a smirk before turning to follow Griffith and shoving his free hand in his pocket.

They were mostly silent, nothing but the sound of their feet against the hardened dirt. "It's a nice night," Griffith mused without turning to look at him.  

Guts lifted his eyes back to the sky, over the cluster of blackened treetops and into the light of the moon. It was almost bright enough to make him squint. "It is."

When he looked back down Griffith was looking at him out the side of his eyes, moonlight catching his irises and blanching them almost silver. Guts gave a quick blink in surprise, and the corner of Griffith's mouth pinched in before he turned his head forward once more.

Sometimes he was just too difficult to read.

Griffith ducked into his tent at the end of the path, pushing aside the heavy fabric and holding it open as Guts moved to step past him. When he closed it the torchlight was still barely visible through the cream folds of the tent, the golden light diffusing into wavering orbs outside. The inside was lit with candles, throwing enough light to ease the shadows knit into the corners.

Guts was lowering his sword as Griffith leaned against the table he had in the center of his tent. Griffith's eyes watched him keenly, skirting around his torso as he brought his sword down and propped it against a support beam.

When Guts turned around Griffith was staring at him, but his eyes were a bit unfocused until Guts stopped moving. Griffith blinked up to make eye contact, leaning back on the table a bit more and gripping the edge with his hands, "I'm sorry I wasn't here when you came back."

Guts responded with a large shrug of his shoulders, "You gotta do what you gotta do, right? War Councils are your thing, swinging my sword is my thing."

Despite Guts' nonchalance, Griffith's expression was flat and unchanging, his eyes hard.

A single eyebrow arched upward on Guts' face, "Were you really that worried I wouldn't survive? I don't know whether to be flattered or offended."

Griffith huffed an exhale that sounded half laugh and half sigh, but his face still didn't hold much amusement. "I was almost certain you would be able to survive," he answered, pushing himself off the table and standing with his back straight. His light eyes settled on Guts' face, "I just wasn't sure in what condition."

Guts shrugged again, "I came out alright."

Griffith laughed at that, head bobbing forward and forcing moonlight-pale tendrils of hair to slip over his shoulder. "Somehow," Griffith agreed.

"Stranger things have happened," Guts responded, unintentionally blinking down at the behelit swinging from Griffith's neck.

Griffith didn't seem to notice; he was meandering around the room, skimming his fingertips over polished wood before crossing in front of Guts. He gazed at Guts' sword for a moment, lips still held in a slightly upward tilt.

"I miss it sometimes, you know."

Guts frowned, "What?"

Griffith didn't turn to look at him when he answered, "Solving everything with a sword."

"Eh? Really?" Guts crossed his arms over his chest, "But you're such a natural at all this political garbage."

Griffith was still smiling his reserved smile, hand resting unconsciously on the hilt of the sword at his hip. "I enjoy some of it," Griffith admitted. His mouth began to sag in the slightest at the corners, and just under the surface there was a rough edge to his voice, "But climbing was much simpler when it was done by cutting."

Guts watched him, candles throwing warm light across fair skin. The glow danced and twittered, flashing against the smoothness of his cheek. When Griffith turned to look at him Guts' gaze didn't waver; he kept his eyes stationed on Griffith's face.

Griffith didn't bother to look surprised either; he simply held his gaze for a silent moment before taking a couple steps around him, head tilting to the side as he raised his hand to touch at Guts' bandages. "The doctor spoke to me when I arrived," he said, fingers barely pressing sensation against the cloth.  

Guts huffed air through his nose, but his eyes were focused on Griffith's hands, "Those doctors, all they do is worry."

Griffith's lip pinched at the corner again, reigning in a smile, "He said you should be confined to your bed." Fingers slid along the seam of the bandages, the edge of Griffith's thumb just barely grazing against the exposed flesh on Guts' chest.

"No way that would have happened," Guts replied, clearing his throat and allowing his voice to drop a bit lower. Griffith's fingers slid upwards, the trails of heat left in their wake sending small shocks through Guts' veins.  

"These look far too healed to have just sustained them this morning." Griffith's eyes skated over the cuts and small wounds that had already sewn themselves shut. He pressed the pad of his thumb against one, sliding over the muscled lines of Guts' shoulder. It didn't hurt or ache, only made Guts' face flush a tad warm.

"Judeau gave me something for them," he responded, voice maybe a bit detached.

Griffith lifted his eyes to Guts' face. They were close enough that Guts' next exhale fluttered the hair beside Griffith's cheek, silver strands catching at his cheekbone.

There was no shift in expression, just two pale blue irises riveted to Guts' own, "I'll have to thank him." Griffith's fingers ceased in their movements, settling near the base of Guts' neck.

They stared at each other. Somewhere far off, the other members of the Band of the Hawk were laughing, chattering sleepily or drunkenly. None of the individual sounds made it to Guts' ears, and none of them would have been loud enough to drown out the ring of silent tension in his skull, anyway. Guts took a step forward, closing the rest of the space until Griffith's tunic was brushing against his skin. His left hand rose, touching at Griffith's hip before settling there.

Guts could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, could feel the burn creep into his cheeks. But Griffith stood there with his unchanging face and eyes, breaths coming quietly enough that Guts couldn't make them out at all.

 _Bastard_.

Guts almost said it, almost growled the complaint as he tipped his head forward, but instead he decided to act, tilting his head to the side and bringing their lips together without a word.

There was a jolt in Guts' chest at the contact, a shock that sprung all the way down to his feet. He felt Griffith inhale against his skin, head immediately tipping up to take Guts more fully on the mouth. Griffith's lips parted, tongue sliding along Guts' lower lip and coaxing his jaw open.

He licked into Guts' mouth and it was calm, almost calculated, and it would have pissed Guts off if he couldn't feel the grip of Griffith's hand on his shoulder growing tighter, the slight push of his other palm on Guts' chest urging him backward.

Guts took a clumsy step backwards once, twice, his other hand gripping at Griffith's hip so he could hold onto both of them, anchoring their bodies close. There was pressure at the back of Guts' knees and Griffith gave him a small shove, forcing Guts to buckle onto the cushioned bench behind him.

Griffith was on top of him before even a single breath could come between them, legs settled on either side of Guts' own so he was perched across his lap. Guts' fingers fluttered around Griffith's hips, hesitant for half a moment before gripping down again, pulling Griffith's body onto him with more weight, more friction.

Hair slid around Griffith's shoulders, curtaining their faces as he kissed into Guts' mouth, pressed more sensation into Guts' shoulders. Electricity was sparking from every point of contact, surging from their lips, crackling from their fingers, sweeping over Guts' skin in waves as Griffith adjusted on Guts' lap.

He could feel himself flushing hard under the weight of Griffith on his lap, his length brushing against Griffith's inner thigh. Their lips detached, gently but with a small sound, and Griffith stared down at him with clear blue eyes that said nothing. Guts' face burned under the stare until he finally cleared his throat, ignoring the way his cock was pressed firmly against Griffith, "What?"

Griffith tipped forward and took his mouth again, his lips feather-light and soft-- no way a woman's could be any softer-- before his jaw worked open aggressively and he slipped his tongue back into Guts' mouth.

Guts was startled by the motion, was startled even more by the forward grind of Griffith's pelvis that made Guts' hips jump, attempting to catch any ghost of friction they could find. Griffith's hands fluttered around Guts' bandages, careful not to apply pressure anywhere dangerous, until they made contact with the waist of his pants. Slender fingers slipped along skin, then found the string before tugging it loose with one deft motion.

"Hey," Guts started, pulling away only for his mouth to be recaptured by a kiss, "Griff--"

Griffith's fingers dipped below the fabric, thumb sliding along the seam between hips and thigh. " _Hey_ ," Guts tried again, taking hold of Griffith's shoulders so he could get some actual distance between them. Griffith's lips were stained pink and shining, but his eyes were still unreadable.

"What's goin' on with you?" Guts asked, fingers relaxing in their hold on Griffith's shoulders.

His chest was moving a little more heavily than usual, but even with the dancing firelight thrown over his features he still looked statuesque, eternal in his placidity. He tipped forward, words coming soft and breathy, "I'm just--" he kissed at the angle of Guts' jaw, fingers splaying out over his shoulders and skating between wounds. He found Guts' mouth again, kissing the corner, "-- glad you're okay," he whispered. He took him full on the mouth again, and Guts' hands dropped back down to his hips.

Griffith's hands lowered as his mouth wandered down his neck, tugging at the hem of his own shirt.

"You're not allowed to die," Griffith reminded him, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it to the ground. His teeth came back down, scraping against the tendons in Guts' neck. "Unless I order it," his voice was husky, almost muffled by skin as he bit into Guts' flesh.

Guts' groan tumbled into a chuckle, "Yeah, I know." His hands slid up Griffith's side, drinking in the new expanses of skin, fair and soft like it'd never been touched.

Griffith pulled away, gaze flickering up to Guts' face as if he was checking it for truth. Guts responded with a blink, but Griffith was already moving on, leaning back so he could pull his leg away from the bench and return to a standing position.

Guts' eyes followed him as he moved through the tent, and it wasn't until he had rustled through a bag and withdrawn a small bottle that the thought finally permeated Guts' skull. He returned, pausing in front of Guts with the bottle and tugging at the tie of his trousers. Guts watched the string loose the fabric, watched it fall to the ground so Griffith could step away from it, movements small and graceful.

A moment of silence passed, and Guts realized he had been wordlessly staring. Griffith cocked a single eyebrow.

"Sorry, sorry," he apologized, hands dropping down to pull at the string of his own pants. Griffith waited silently and patiently, only allowing for a tilt of his head until Guts had freed himself of clothing.

"About time," he commented quietly, moving to settle back over Guts' lap.

"Shut up," Guts grumbled, face burning as he averted his gaze.

There was a small popping sound as the cork was pulled from the bottle. Guts blinked up at Griffith, who was staring down at him. Guts raised his eyebrows.

"Would you like me to do it?" Griffith asked, syllables clean and even despite the fact that his voice was a little smoky.

Guts wordlessly held out his hand, pointer and middle finger extended.

The amusement didn't leave Griffith's face as he poured the oil over Guts' fingers. Guts always thought it smelled like vegetables or something equally earthy, but he never asked. He purposefully avoided asking questions that would garner him a stifled chuckle and an explanation that made him feel like a child.

Griffith hovered over Guts' lap, weight on his knees. When Guts reached around it was tentatively, fingers barely brushing over the indent of his back dimples and the soft loll of his cheeks. Guts slipped his fingers between them, moving slow and watching Griffith's face. He was staring into nothingness, eyes focused on a far off thing, when Guts' fingers finally touched against his entrance.

His eye gave a small twitch, barely enough to even count as recognition. Guts began moving the pad of his finger over the puckered flesh in slow, taunting circles. When Griffith exhaled it sounded strained. Maybe even... wanting.

He continued the motions, slow circles, faint hints at pressure that _almost_ offered friction, but not quite.

"Guts," Griffith said. He sounded serious.

Guts' smile sloshed across his face, "Griffith."

Griffith sighed, his eyes fluttering closed for half a moment. "Do you plan to toy with me forever?" he asked, still not making eye contact.

Guts' mouth pulled down in hyperbolic thought, his fingertip pressing _almost_ hard enough to slip past the rim, "I haven't decided yet."

Griffith shot him a pointed look, eyes hard even though his chest was heaving.

Guts shook his head, "Okay, okay."

He encircled the flesh a few more times, offered a couple more hints at friction, and just as Griffith was opening his mouth for another complaint he slid into him, one finger going in almost to the second knuckle.

Griffith froze, body going rigid and mouth snapping shut to stifle the noise rising in his chest. Guts waited. He could feel the flutter of Griffith's heartbeat wrapped around his finger, throbbing through his rim and giving away all his attempts at complete composure. When it felt as if Griffith's body had finished adjusting, he sunk deeper.

He didn't make a sound, but Griffith's lips parted, his eyes refocused on nothingness over Guts' shoulder.

"Is that better?" Guts asked. He drew his fingers back toward himself before diving in again, careful not to jolt him too severely.

Griffith closed his eyes and exhaled the oxygen of ten men.

"Good," Guts mumbled. He put his free hand on the small of Griffith's back, steadying him as he began to thrust in and out of the heat of his body. Griffith did his best not to react but Guts could feel the throbbing of his inner walls and the thin sheet of sweat collecting over his skin. His insides were startlingly hot, and just the feel of the wet heat alone made precum begin to collect on the head of Guts' cock.

Guts pulled his finger free and turned to look at Griffith, "Ready?" Griffith didn't look at him, but responded with a single nod. This time when Guts pressed against him it was with two fingers.

The press into him was blatantly tighter, Griffith's rim squeezing and contracting around his knuckles as he attempted to sink into him. Griffith gasped, shoulders rising and falling heavily with the breaths.

"You alright?"

Another curt nod.

Guts dove as far into him as he could, relishing the strangled noise that worked out of Griffith's throat. Then he began moving, slowly at first, and felt Griffith's body slowly unwind around him.

He began meeting the thrusts of his fingers with small motions of his hips, hitting the maximum depth with tiny intakes of breath. Guts began feeling out his insides, searching for that small bead of sensation, and the moment he found it, he knew.

Griffith almost coughed his groan, immediately taking a sharp inhale and digging his nails into Guts' shoulders. "There it is," Guts commented mildly, dragging friction across the same spot.

Griffith choked, his breathing going ragged. Guts glanced down as he continued, watching the downright _ruthless_ pour of precum over Griffith's cock. He could almost see the direct response between the touch and the surge of clear liquid, and it encouraged him to do it again, again, _again_.

"Guts," Griffith wheezed, his voice so desperately attempting to sound composed.

He knew he had been walking a dangerous line, so Guts eased off, but not before pressing down hard against the spot one more time and earning a loud groan in response. He then scissored his fingers, drawing them toward himself and forcing one final stretch out of Griffith.

Griffith buried his face in Guts' neck to help stifle his moan. He pulled his fingers free and Griffith let go of a sigh that sounded as if it'd been trapped in his lungs for years.  

Guts grabbed the bottle of oil once more, drizzling it over his length and making sure to coat it as liberally as possible. The quick slide of his hand almost made him shudder, but he was pulling away and fitting oily fingers back around Griffith's hips before he allowed himself to lose any composure. Griffith rose up on his knees, lifting his body so he could hover just above Guts' length. He reached for it, his eyes steady on Guts' face.

His touch was light, but it sparked electricity beneath Guts' skin regardless. He lowered himself slowly, just barely touching the tip to his entrance. The puckered flesh was warm against Guts' head, and if composure had been challenging before it was an all-out battle now. Griffith's chest heaved just a little more strongly than usual, but other than that he was calm, placid. The seam of his mouth broke, opening for the slightest part of lips. He began to lower himself.

Guts' head slowly eased open his rim, slipping through the oil left from preparation. When it started to stretch Guts could feel it, the tight ring of pressure opening up around him. Griffith's features were still unchanging, but somehow the flames from the candles looked different in the reflection of Griffith's eyes, like his irises were catching and swallowing the light. It was probably Guts' imagination.

He moved down until he had fully engulfed the head, devouring it completely in slick wet heat. Guts could feel the flutter of his heart in his throat. He fought every urge he had not to pull down on Griffith's hips and bring the sweet sweep of friction he so desperately craved.

As if he could read Guts' mind, Griffith paused. Guts' hands trembled in their place around Griffith's hips, the heat testing his patience. Griffith's throat bobbed as he swallowed, and maybe his eyes were just a tad wider than usual. He sank lower.

The slow drag of sensation was like an itch followed by overwhelming relief. It crawled down the entirety of his length and into his thighs, _desperate_. After a couple centimeters Griffith paused again, breath catching in his throat, almost inaudible. Guts felt his rim flinch tighter around his length, sudden pressure somehow making Guts' cock surge harder. Griffith moved down a few more centimeters, paused.

A growl rose from Guts' throat, head tipping back on his neck. Griffith's thighs were trembling, and Guts wasn't sure if it was from the intrusion or the effort of holding back. Guts glanced down, gaze catching at the clear beads of precum slipping over the head of Griffith's cock. They reflected the candles, glistening like droplets of fire over the flushed pink of his head.

Griffith moved down again, slowly enough for Guts to grit his teeth. As he sank lower, more precum rose over his slit, dribbling over the soft curve and down the shaft.

He paused.

Guts looked up at him. His eyes were still wide, lower lip doing its best not to quiver, single drop of sweat sliding down the side of his face.

Guts almost chuckled, and when he spoke it came out far lower and far rougher than he expected, "You sure are a prideful bastard, you know that?" He tugged downward on Griffith's hips and Griffith gave no resistance to the movement, devouring the rest of Guts' cock in one quick motion.

Guts sunk his teeth into his lip to stifle his groan, and Griffith's head fell back on his neck, mouth gasping open and chest heaving hard. His voice stuck to his breaths, small notes clinging to his exhales. The heat consumed Guts, the pressure bearing down on him and making his toes curl. Griffith's head lolled back forward, tendrils of hair dripping over his shoulders and blue eyes piercing into him, sharp and focused. He watched Guts' face as he rose back upward, watched so he knew exactly how Guts' features twisted as the sensation flooded his veins.

The pressure was overwhelming, and even though it was slick Griffith's rim still gripped his shaft tight, squeezing burning friction with it as it moved around him.

" _Ah_ \--" Guts inhaled as Griffith's rim seized him just below his head. He couldn't tell if the throbbing in his head was the blood surging through his own cock or the flutter of Griffith's heartbeat.

Griffith sunk back down in a rush, filling himself quickly and fully in one motion. Guts groaned, back arching and fingers flexing tight enough to bruise the skin of Griffith's hips. There was chatter, the skewed sounds of voices moving outside the tent. Guts leaned his head back, gaze slipping through a seam of the tent, and he saw his men slowly stumbling back from their night of drinking.

Griffith leaned forward, breath rushing over Guts' face, "You'll have to keep it down." His voice was infuriatingly even.

That's when Griffith began to move, body sinking and rising around his cock in a steady rhythm. Guts growled, groans and hisses congealing in the back of his throat as he attempted to grind them into silence. Every thrust was flashing waves of pressure and heat, every thrust was a barely contained sound, a drop of sweat, Griffith's breaths catching higher in his throat.

Guts' hand slid upward, over the sinewy muscle of Griffith's abs and up to his chest. At the end of every thrust Guts was awarded a small gasp, a noise just teetering on the edge of uncontrolled. He could practically _see_ the sparks jolting from the contact and through Griffith's veins, matting his skin with sweat, making his limbs and lips tremble. He _could_ feel the precum pouring over Griffith's cock, slipping down his length and bumping against Guts' stomach.

His hand slid around the sweat on Griffith's chest before his thumb grazed over his nipple. Griffith shuddered, and that's when Guts twisted, pinching the pink flesh between his fingers.

Griffith's back snapped into an arch, grunting as he threw his head back and bit down on the plush of his bottom lip. Guts couldn't help but stare at him, the extended line of his neck, the cut of his jaw, the delicate bones wrapped in strength and power.

Guts didn't deserve to look at him like this.

Griffith lurched back forward, eyes burning hotter than the hottest flames, searing blue and silver. His rhythm began to quicken, building warmth in Guts' thighs and sitting low in his belly. Guts' hand fell downward slowly, not stopping until his fingertips brushed against Griffith's cock.

Griffith's breathing hitched and his long lashes squeezed shut for an instant, concealing the searing blue.

He was too beautiful, too strong, too _everything._ He sat atop Guts, devoured and consumed Guts, and all Guts could do was sit dumbfounded, enraptured.

The warmth in his legs was mounting into tingling tension, his skin prickling and stretching tight. "Griffi--" Guts gasped, the rest of the word leaving his mouth in a rush of air. His fingers curled tight around Griffith's cock, and for a moment Griffith's rhythm stuttered, sinking slowly as a moan unfurled from his throat.

" _Fuck_ ," Guts breathed.

Griffith's fingers dug into Guts' shoulders, his rhythm back as if it had never faltered. When he spoke it was in a register low enough to pick up the deepest notes of Griffith's voice, the airy sound almost dangerous, "Say it."

Guts blinked up at him, the perfectly sculpted features made more ethereal by candlelight. His hand began to move over Griffith's shaft, rock hard and almost burning to the touch. His palm slipped through precum, and it was with much control that Griffith contained the flinch of his face. That was fine; Guts could feel the clench around his cock anyway.

" _Say it_ ," he whispered again, almost hissed.

Guts lifted his chin, the blood in his veins mounting faster with every thrust. He began to move his hand quicker.

" _Griffith_ ," he breathed. Griffith's mouth parted, his eyes hinting at softening. " _Griffith_ ," Guts tried again, using the hand on Griffith's hip to help him bounce a little faster, a little harder.

Griffith leaned forward, their foreheads bumping. "Say it," he whispered before taking Guts' mouth into a kiss. "Tell me," he spoke against his lips, kissing at the corner of his mouth, his bottom lip.

Guts' focus was dissolving, the tendrils of sticky tension unfurling in his stomach. "Griffith, ah, _God, I_ \--" his free hand rose up to thread through Griffith's hair, curling in against his scalp.

" _Tell me_ ," Griffith huffed, their panting breaths sticking to each other's faces.

"I _belong to you_ ," Guts said, voice thin and rasping. Griffith groaned, his cock surging even harder in Guts' hand. Guts slid his thumb over the head, pressing shocking sensation into the tip. He watched Griffith's face begin to unravel, his jaw going slack, a sight Guts didn't deserve to see. Guts was like a peasant staring up at a knight, a soldier gawking at a king, a man observing a god.

Guts tilted his hips, grinding as much friction as he could right where he knew Griffith liked it, sliding his thumb around the thick layer of precum on his head. " _I belong to you_ ," he stated again, stronger. " _Griffith_."

Griffith's hips bucked, teeth grinding together in an effort to stifle a moan as he poured thick and white over Guts' fingers. Guts could feel him convulsing, not just atop him but _around_ him, rim flinching and spasming tight, squeezing over and over again in waves as he came.

" _Fuck_ ," Guts gasped again, the extra sensations driving him right up to the edge. Griffith's shoulders were beginning to hunch, his spine going heavy and languid, but he was still moving, still gasping for breath next to Guts' ear.

"Guts," he breathed, voice weak. "You're mine, Guts."

Guts' insides flinched, and the heat and tension in his thighs spiked before snapping, rocketing him toward climax. Guts almost shouted, hips bucking upward and eliciting a small yelp from Griffith. Guts groaned as he poured into him, wave after pulsing wave driving hot and deep. Guts began to go bleary eyed, his focus annihilated, and when his orgasm finally tapered off his thrusts grew lazy before slowing down into nothing.

For awhile there were no sounds but their breathing. Griffith leaned against him, spine curving as if the weight of his shoulders was finally too much. Guts just held him there, scarcely noticing the weight of his body at all. He barely felt anchored to earth, and as the blackness behind his eyes spread the feeling only grew.

Eventually Griffith rose, easing off of Guts with great care and earning both of them a few shudders. He staggered over to his clothes, pulling them on slow and gentle. Guts watched him, unabashed, admiring the smooth lines of muscle and faint glow of his skin.

Griffith straightened and threw a wad of cloth at Guts, hitting him square in the face. It took Guts more energy than he would ever admit to finally raise his arm and yank the fabric away from his eyes.

"Your pants," Griffith said, lips tipping into amusement. "Before you fall asleep there at least put your pants back on."

Guts obliged, lazily yanking them back over his limbs. There was movement around the tent, Griffith shuffling around books and maps, but Guts couldn't truly track it. Soon his eyes were falling closed, easing his mind into a deep sleep.

 

__

 

Griffith eventually looked up from his paperwork, glancing over to where Guts had fallen asleep. He was sprawled across the bench, arm lazily wrapped around his sword, mouth slightly agape and chest moving in a heavy, steady rhythm.

Griffith's mouth twitched upward as he stood, walking over to his sheets to grab a folded one off to the side. He unfurled it as he walked, pausing in front of the bench before laying the fabric over Guts' body. He stared down at his face, peaceful expression easing away the normal etchings of his frown.

" _I belong to you, Griffith_."

Griffith's heart stuttered at the memory.

He turned around, breath sighing through his nose. When he sat down it was with corners of his mouth turned down.

The words were a lie. Every time Guts spoke them, Griffith knew that somewhere, in the back of his mind, they were a lie.

He picked up his pen, dabbing it in the ink before moving to scrawl letters over weathered parchment.

As much as he'd never admit it, he had belonged to Guts for awhile now.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you love ~~suffering~~ Berserk like I do, come ~~suffer with me~~ say hello!  
> http://suggestivescribe.tumblr.com/


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